


Sweet 50

by awesomesockes, whumphoarder



Series: Christ, What Now? [19]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but not in the way you'd think), (perfectly legal), Back Pain, Banter, Birthday, Celebrities, Drunk Clint Barton, Gen, Humor, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner, Party, Team as Family, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomesockes/pseuds/awesomesockes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: While setting up for his 50th birthday extravaganza, Tony manages to hurt his back. Bruce and Peter try to help.Key word: try.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Series: Christ, What Now? [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282181
Comments: 62
Kudos: 242





	Sweet 50

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [sallyidds](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) and [xxx-cat-xxx](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!
> 
> Happy Birthday Tony Stark! Hope it's better than this one :D

“How about now?” Peter calls over his shoulder, lifting the corner of the massive ‘Happy Birthday’ banner a few inches higher on the wall. 

“No, now it’s _too_ high,” Tony hollers back from his position at the opposite end of the compound’s reception hall. “Try half of that.”

Moving one rung down the ladder he’s standing on, Peter lowers the cloth a bit. “Now?”

Tony frowns at the still-crooked sign. “No, too low again. And the middle is wrinkled—stretch it out more to the left.”

Peter adjusts the banner again, making it even more crooked and creating a new wrinkle on the other side. “Better?”

Tony rolls his eyes and glances down at his watch with a deep sigh. Between all the weeks of planning that went into preparing for his fiftieth birthday extravaganza—which included arranging world class caterers, inviting distinguished guests, hiring a decorating company to deck out half the compound, and booking the entertainment (including long-time friend of the Stark family, Elton John)—he can’t believe it’s all coming down to a twenty-foot-long piece of canvas that he and the kid have been trying to hang for the last quarter of an hour. 

Peter groans in frustration. “I don’t understand what you want, Mr. Stark,” he all but whines. “I just keep moving it up and down again.”

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. He’s trying not to take it out on the kid, but guests will be arriving in less than an hour and there’s still so much to be done. The banner went up hours ago behind the stage, where he originally had planned it to be, but a last minute stroke of creative inspiration hit and he decided it would be better over the bar. Now he’s regretting not just leaving it alone.

“Just… Never mind, kid—come on down,” Tony sighs. “I’ll do it myself.”

Peter shrugs and hops down from the ladder. “Alright. Have at it.” 

Tony trades places with him and starts climbing the ladder. He knows the damn banner—and everything else he’s been perfecting for the last twenty-four hours, for that matter—is a minor detail in the grand scheme of things, but given that he’s been out of the extravagant birthday party scene for the last decade (after his disastrous fortieth), he feels extra pressure to make sure this time is just right. 

“Okay, how’s that?” Tony says once he’s adjusted the cloth. “Is it straight?”

“Looks fine to me,” Peter replies. Tony glances down to see the kid standing below, holding the ladder steady. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Well, you can’t tell from here!” He points behind him toward the middle of the room. “Go stand back there and make sure it’s straight.”

Peter sighs. “I really think it’s alright, but okay…” he mutters as he moves to where he’s instructed. Once there, he glances back. “Looks good.”

“Are you sure?” Tony calls back. “Because if it’s like last—” He stops suddenly when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees fingerprints on the whisky glasses that are sitting on the top shelf of the bar. “Who was on cleaning duty?!” he demands, leaning over the edge of the ladder to get a closer look. “These should have been polished three days ago and— _whoa!”_

Tony’s foot slips on the metal rung, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s lying flat on his back on the wooden floor behind the bar.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter gasps, dashing over. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“”M fine,” Tony grunts. But as he goes to push himself up, pain shoots down his back and he hisses sharply, sinking right back down. 

Peter is hovering over him now, looking worried. “That doesn’t sound very fine.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Calm down, I just tweaked my back or something. Give me a minute.”

Peter’s eyes go wide. “I’ll go get Dr. Banner!” he blurts, spinning on his heels.

Tony frowns. “What? No! Don’t bother—” But the kid is already gone. “Shit…” he mutters to himself.

While Peter is gone, Tony tries once more to sit up, but barely makes it up on his elbows before another jolt of pain has him sinking back down defeatedly. Fuck. This isn’t good. And not just because from this view he can clearly see that the banner is still wrinkled. 

That kid is so fired. 

Just then, two sets of rapid footsteps approach. 

“Tony?” Bruce calls worriedly, coming into sight around the bar. “You alright? Peter says you fell.”

Tony groans, rather dramatically. “No, I’m not alright.” He points a finger up at the spotlights above him. “We’ve got a bulb out.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “What hurts? Anything feel broken?” he asks.

Ignoring him, Tony lowers his finger down to point at the kid. “Pete, get a bulb. Utility closet, corridor 5B. Chop, chop.”

Looking wary, Peter starts to turn around, but Bruce stops him with a hand on his arm. “No, stay here,” he tells the kid. Turning to Tony, he asks, “Can you get up?”

“‘Course,” Tony huffs, without making any attempt to move. “Just lying here for the view.”

Bruce just sighs, then glances back at Peter. “Alright, help me get him up.”

Between the two of them, they manage to get Tony hoisted up to his feet. The pain isn’t quite as bad as that time he slipped two discs, but he definitely pulled something and he can’t quite straighten up all the way. 

Bruce asks him a couple questions about the pain, then has him try moving a few different ways, the last of which causes Tony’s eyes to water. He has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out, which leaves Bruce looking even more concerned.

“Maybe we should just reschedule the party...” Bruce suggests.

“No,” Tony snaps as Peter helps to maneuver him towards a chair. “We’re doing this. Graham Norton is coming, for God’s sake. The show must go on.” Pain knifes through his back when he starts to sit and a small groan slips out. “Fuck, no, up up up!” he grunts to Peter, who quickly stands him back up again. “No need to sit. Just get me some ice. I’ll be fine.”

“Tony, this is ridiculous,” Bruce says. “You can barely handle being upright at the moment. How are you going to host an eight-hour party like this?”

“We are _not_ canceling,” Tony says firmly. “I’ve been planning this party for months. Drake will be there. Serena Williams. The third Hemmsworth brother is coming, dammit. We’re doing this.”

“If you just explain the situation, Tony, I’m sure they’ll understand…”

Tony locks eyes with him. “We. Are. Not. Canceling.”

Bruce heaves out a sigh. “Alright, but you should at least lie down for a while and take some painkillers.”

After a bit more protesting, Tony eventually gives in on the condition that Bruce promises to oversee the final preparations up to his exact standards. Then Peter and Bruce support him in the pathetic shuffle to his bedroom, stopping a few times when the pain gets to be too much. 

With a small moan, Tony sits down on the edge of the bed. Bruce leaves with the promise of meds while Peter starts easing the suit jacket off his mentor’s shoulders.

“Careful,” Tony grunts.

“Sorry!” Peter stops immediately, looking concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not me,” Tony grumbles. “That jacket is Bespoke. It’s a sin to wrinkle it.”

“Oh, right.” Peter nods solemnly and removes it from his mentor’s shoulders. He places it over the chair beside the bed as though he’s handling the Mona Lisa.

Bruce returns with a glass of water and three white pills. “Alright, got some painkillers and a muscle relaxer for you,” he says, handing them over. “They should kick in within thirty minutes or so.”

Tony nods and knocks back the pills. It’s 4:15 now—half an hour of rest should leave just enough time to freshen up and get back downstairs before the festivities begin. After the last few hectic days of planning, a little lie down does sound nice. “You’ll get the glasses clean before the cocktail hour starts, right?” he confirms as the two maneuver him onto the mattress.

“Yep, I will,” Peter promises, untying his mentor’s dress shoes and sliding them off his feet. “I’ll make sure. And I’ll get the banner straightened out. Don’t worry, Mr. Stark.”

“And remember, the seafood can’t go out too early!” Tony adds. “Can’t have Tom Hanks getting food poisoning—he’s a shrimp fanatic.“

Bruce sighs, but there’s a bit of amusement to his expression. “We’ve got this, Tony,” he assures. “You just rest here for a while. I’ll come get you just before the guests arrive.” He shakes out a blanket and drapes it over Tony. “Just trust me, alright?”

“Yeah… alright…” Tony mutters, letting his eyes close. “Just a short nap.”

**X**

Tony must have drifted off because when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in the room. He shifts to sit up—his back still protesting—and swings his feet over the edge of the mattress. He feels groggy, but significantly more rested; the nap seems to have done him good. He decides he might as well get himself moving before Bruce returns to wake him up.

Getting to his feet sends a stab of pain down his back muscles; either whatever Banner gave him is shit, or they need a bit more time to kick in. He hopes it’s the latter. He slides his feet into his shoes, figuring he can just ask the kid to tie them once he’s downstairs. Then he grabs his jacket and heads for the door. 

Time to get this party started.

He makes his way stiffly down the corridor in the direction of the reception hall, but pauses when he hears voices from the kitchen. He frowns. There had better not be a problem with the shrimp.

But then the voices are drowned out by laughter and his confusion only increases. He follows the sound, but immediately stops when the kitchen comes into view. 

The entire team is sitting around the table, looking to be in various states of disarray. Food is piled on their plates, though none of the fancy catered dishes he recalls ordering. He can see stacks of pancakes and bowls of fruit, the smell of freshly cooked bacon wafting towards him.

There isn’t a shrimp in sight.

Tony blinks. “What’s going on here?”

Conversation ceases as all heads turn in Tony’s direction. Bruce’s eyes widen and he jumps up immediately to hurry over. Only he and Steve seem to be properly dressed. Thor is sitting shirtless with a mug of beer in his hand and flannel pajama pants. He smiles warmly. Happy seems to be unconscious, slumped forward on the table using a pancake as a pillow. Beside him, Clint—who is wearing Tony’s birthday banner as a toga (and nothing else)—lets out an excited whoop. Nat groans and hits his shoulder weakly. She’s sitting perched on a kitchen chair with her knees tucked up to her chest, holding a mug of black coffee, the steam from which is fogging her dark sunglasses. She looks like death. Pepper is nowhere in sight.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Stark!” Peter says brightly. He’s wearing Pikachu pajama bottoms and a Lego Batman movie t-shirt, eating his way through a stack of pancakes as tall as his head. Nat grimaces at him, then takes another sip of her coffee, then grimaces again.

The puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place in Tony’s mind, but it’s revealing an image he isn’t quite ready to accept yet. “What time is it?” he asks evenly.

Bruce reaches Tony’s side. “Uh, how are you doing?” he asks nervously. “Are you in any pain?”

Tony blinks at him. Then he glances up at the ornate clock on the wall, the hour hand of which is pointing just after the eight. He points a finger up at it. “Please tell me that’s eight p.m.”

Bruce looks almost in pain himself. “So, Norco comes in two dosages…”

Tony’s heart sinks. He shakes his head in horror. “No. Oh no. _”_

“There are five milligram pills and ten milligram pills,” Bruce continues. “Usually we use the five. Uh, however…”

Tony runs a hand over his face. “You didn’t.”

Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “I am so, _so_ sorry, Tony.”

It’s definitely not the first birthday he’s had to have recapped for him the next day, but it is the first one where he’s blacked out before having a single drink. “You drugged me,” Tony states.

Bruce’s expression is the epitome of guilt. “We tried waking you up. Multiple times, actually, but you were so out of it. Kept asking for five more minutes, then telling me to fuck off…”

Clint pipes up, “Don’t worry, Stark—party went off without a hitch!” he says, then giggles. “We played beer pong with Meryl Streep and Shaquille O'Neal!”

“Fuck Streep,” Nat mutters, pulling her hood up over her head. “That woman’s got surprising aim…”

“You... had it without me?” Tony says in disbelief. He’d been assuming they would have just canceled the event after their guest of honor went out of commission. “Elton John and everything?”

“It was just that it was all paid for already and the guests were arriving and we didn’t know what else to do,” Bruce explains quickly. “I couldn’t just send them away—I mean, you don’t just send away _Prince Frederik!”_

At the mention of his name, the Danish Crown Prince (who Tony suddenly notices is sitting quietly at the end of the table) tips his coffee cup in their direction. “Truly a memorable night, Mr. Stark. Thank you so much for having me.”

“Great. Fantastic. Glad everyone else had fun.” Ignoring his protesting back, Tony slumps down onto the nearest open chair with a groan loud enough to wake Happy, who jolts up in surprise with the pancake he’s been sleeping on stuck to his forehead. 

“Wha’?” he slurs. “Where’s th’ monkey?”

Thor chuckles and claps Happy on the back. “Oh I got him out of the punch bowl, never fear.” Then, turning to Tony, he says, “Wonderful party, Stark. Your presence was definitely felt.”

With a warm smile, Steve adds, “Yeah, everyone had great things to say about you, Tony.”

“Especially Kevin Hart,” Clint throws in.

Tony’s eyes widen. _“Kevin Hart_ was there?”

“Yeah, he did a whole bit,” Peter pipes up through a bit of pancake. “Then he made some TikToks with me and Ms. Potts and Keira Knightly.” He frowns. “Actually, haven’t seen either of them since…”

Tony hides his face in his hands and groans.

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze. “How about I go get you some of your birthday cake for breakfast, huh? We lost some of it when Abu got loose, but we managed to save you a piece.”

Tony nods miserably, lowering his hands. “And some more Norco?”

“And some more Norco,” Bruce agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and hang out on tumblr if you want: [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/) & [awesomesockes](http://awesomesockes.tumblr.com/)


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